


How Does it Feel?

by vogue91



Category: 37-sai de Isha ni Natta Boku
Genre: Angst, Cutting, M/M, Self-Harm, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 15:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14059584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogue91/pseuds/vogue91
Summary: Niimi is beautiful. More than he thought when they had first met, more than he thinks to deserve.Because he doesn’t truly deserve him, and he knows that.





	How Does it Feel?

Kentaro opens his eyes.

He feels it, by now, when it’s time to wake up.

Always before the alarm starts ringing, always with the sound of Satoru putting on the pot with coffee.

He stays still in bed, like every morning, his eyes now closed and his ears up.

He listens to him going to the bathroom and turning on the water.

He listens to him shower, because it’s a sound he finds soothing.

Just when he can’t hear the water anymore he knows it’s time to get up and he joins him, finding him in front of the mirror, shaving.

He looks at him running carefully the razor on his face, focused, and he would almost laugh if he didn’t know Niimi would get mad.

And Kentaro doesn’t want for him to get mad.

He gets closer, slowly, bringing a hand to his up and startling him.

“I’ve told you a thousand times that you shouldn’t sneak up on me when I’m shaving.” are his only words, while he keeps going at it, ignoring him.

“Good morning.” Kentaro says, chewing his lips and kissing at the centre of his shoulder blades, staying there watching him, captivated.

“Come on, Kentaro..” Satoru says to him when the younger one tiptoes in order to kiss him. “My shift starts early this morning. I don’t want to be late.” he adds, moving him aside harshly.

He gets back to the bedroom to get dressed, and the other doctor still follows him, a little because he’s got nothing else to do, and a little because he knows he’ll miss him when he’ll go.

He sits on the bed and looks at him getting clothes out of the closet, a choice that’s always casual and never thought out, and he likes how even from that casualness the result is always capable of taking his breath away.

Niimi is beautiful. More than he thought when they had first met, more than he thinks to deserve.

Because he doesn’t truly deserve him, and he knows that.

He doesn’t deserve to sleep in that bed, to stay in that house, to wake up every morning with the sound of a routine that in the end doesn’t belong to him.

And Satoru never fails to remind that to him.

He reminds it to him when Kentaro says he loves him and he laughs, he reminds him of it those night when he’s in a foul mood and asks him to go back home. He reminds him of it every time they have sex, and he tells him that it’s the only reason why he’s allowed to be among those walls.

And Kentaro doesn’t feel any better than a whore, but he doesn’t actually care.

He only cares about being able to stay there while he dresses up, being able to breath the scent of his soap drenching the room, and hoping he won’t ask him to leave.

“I’m off. See you at the hospital.” the elder tells him, going in a rush to the door, so fast that Kentaro has some troubles keeping up.

“See you later. Love you.”

As usual, Satoru turns back for a moment, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t even, Kentaro.” he says, before leaving the house.

But Shimoda doesn’t mind, because he knew he was going to say that.

He wanders through the house for a few minutes, caressing all those objects that speak about Niimi, telling him about a life that the older man keeps from him.

He goes to the bathroom, still drenched in the smell of that body he loves, and that he couldn’t live without.

He takes the cap off the aftershave and breathes in, slowly, smiling.

Then he takes one of the blades off the razor.

He looks at it, sad. He stops smiling.

He knows he had to, he knows he’s got no choice.

He rests it on his wrist, delicate.

A cut. Two, three.

The blood starts dripping on the floor, and he tells himself that he’s going to have to clean up, because he doesn’t want to hear Satoru complaining about him having stained the tiles.

He cuts, again.

At times he wonders what would happen if one day he was to decide not to stop, but he’s never brave enough to actually try it. He’d lose Niimi, he wouldn’t have a chance to see him anymore, and he can’t stand it.

He goes on, on little doses of that pain, so that he won’t be forced to tell himself that what really hurts him is that very same love that will never be mutual.

Kentaro wishes he could believe it, but he’s not this stupid.

He cuts again, then he washes the blade and puts it back in its place, cleaning the floor as to not leave trace of his passage.

He puts the arm under the cold water and looks at his own blood washing away.

He feels weak, but he knows his boundaries by now, and he knows that he’s going to be okay.

He’s okay, because it’s just hurting himself that he can be immune to all of Satoru’s gratuitous cruelty toward him.

He’s okay, because it’s only thanks to those wounds that he can keep loving him.


End file.
